


These Scars

by Samunderthelights



Series: Drarropoly : 2020 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Don't copy to another site, Drarropoly: A Drarry Game/Fest, Drarry, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Self-Harm, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27708575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samunderthelights/pseuds/Samunderthelights
Summary: Since returning to Hogwarts, Harry hasn't spoken to Draco much. It's not like they were ever friends. But when he stumbles upon Draco's diary, and he reads what is in there, he realises they might have more in common than he thought.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarropoly : 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023337
Comments: 6
Kudos: 88
Collections: Drarropoly '20: Founders Edition, Drarry26





	These Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Drarropoly 2020](https://gameofdrarry.tumblr.com/).  
> I landed on The Library, and my prompt was 'Harry or Draco discovers the other's personal diary and is shocked by what they find.'.
> 
> Please note the tags before reading!

When he was younger, Harry had always felt at home at Hogwarts. No matter what was going on in the outside world, or even within the castle walls, there had been something about being there, about being at the place where his parents had met, where his friends were, that had made him feel safe.

But ever since the war, the castle feels different. There are too many bad memories that were made here, and everywhere he looks, he sees his friends, hurt. Killed.

The library is the only place where he still finds some kind of comfort. Where sometimes he can still forget. But today it still leaves him feeling uneasy, because he can hear some of the younger students whispering. He can hear his name, over and over again, and no matter how hard he tries to ignore it, there is no getting away from their gossiping.

So he gets up from his table, grabs his books, and goes to return them to where they belong. He makes a point of walking past the students staring at him, makes a point of holding his head up high, while he is slowly dying on the inside, wishing for nothing more than to have his friends with him right now. To have Sirius and Remus here to tell him that it’s going to be okay. To have his parents here, to hold him until the world seems right again.

He steps into the aisle, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to tell himself that if only he gets through this year, if only he can ignore this feeling, these thoughts… then what? He’s never going to stop being Harry Potter, is he? He’ll always have to carry his past with him. No matter what he does, no matter where he goes. There is no escape.

He feels as though the books are starting to close in on him, so he lets himself slide down to the floor. But as soon as his hands hit the floor, he feels something poking out from one of the bookcases. Anything that’s out of place still gives him anxiety, so he quickly picks it up, curious to find out what it is.

But when he opens it, he realises that this is someone’s diary.

It speaks of feeling out of place here at Hogwarts, feeling like they shouldn’t be here. Feeling like they’re an imposter, who doesn’t deserve to be given another chance. It speaks of being ashamed, hating themselves.

Harry almost feels like the diary could be his own, but there is only one other person whose diary this could be. So he quickly gets up, and he looks around the library.

“Excuse me?” he asks, a student he doesn’t recognise looking up at him with big eyes. “Have you seen…?”

“You’re Harry Potter!”

“Yes. I know. Thank you.” Harry sarcastically replies. “Have you seen Draco Malfoy?”

“He was here a while ago, but I think he left.” The student shrugs. “Why? Do you think he’s up to something? If you need someone to help you…”

Harry walks off, unable to find the energy in himself to be nice to the student right now. He isn’t sure where to go, seeing as he hasn’t actually spoken to Draco since the beginning of the year. Other than the occasional discussion they’ll have in class, that is. But they aren’t exactly friends, and he isn’t sure where Draco spends his free time.

He almost considers returning the diary to him when he sees him in class tomorrow, but there is something about the last entry, about how dark and painful it is, that makes him keep on looking for the other young man.

* * *

Harry has been searching the castle for hours, but no one seems to have seen Draco today. He is almost about to go see McGonagall, worried that something might have happened to him, when he decides to check the bathrooms. He highly doubts Draco has been in there, hiding all day. But it’s worth taking a look.

When he goes in the bathrooms, which have been out of use since the war, and which still show the signs of the fight that took place there, a feeling of dread washes over him.

He almost considers turning back, because the weight that is pressing down onto his chest makes him feel like he is about to have a panic attack. But when he hears a faint whimpering coming from one of the few stalls that still has a door in it, he quietly goes over there, scared as to what he’s about to find.

“Malfoy? Is that you in there?” he asks, pushing open the door, his heart nearly beating out of his chest.

“What are you…,” Draco asks, quickly trying to cover up his arm, but he is shaking, and before he can even begin to unroll his sleeve, Harry sees the dark lines on there, the half-healed burns, the dried up blood.

Images from the war, from the bodies of his friends, flash before his eyes, and a wave of nausea washes over him.

He grabs Draco’s arm, and he stares down at the dark scar, still so visible underneath all the damage done to the skin.

“What the hell…,” he begins, but his voice fails him, and when he looks up, and he sees the look of shame on Draco’s face, he storms out of the bathroom stall.

He slams his hand into another stall, over and over again, until he feels a hand, nervously being placed on his shoulder.

“Don’t tell anyone, please,” Draco whispers, his voice shaking.

“What the hell were you doing in there?” Harry spits out as he turns around to face him, even though he already knows the answer. “You can’t… that stuff… fuck you, Malfoy! Fuck you!”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t get to…,” Harry begins, but then he remembers the diary. He remembers the young man’s words. His thoughts. “Please tell me you weren’t trying to…,” he says, lowering his voice even though it’s just the two of them in here. “Were you trying to hurt yourself?”

“Trying to?” Draco scoffs. “I know you saw, Harry.”

“What are you trying to do? You think that stuff is going to make it go away?”

“I sure as hell can try, can’t I?” Draco asks, tears welling up in his eyes.

Harry looks down, and he can tell that Draco’s shirt is sticking to the fresh wounds, he can see the wound fluid starting to stain his sleeve. It makes him feel sick to his stomach, and he quickly looks back up, but seeing Draco Malfoy this close to tears, it’s a sight that makes him feel even worse.

“How long have you been doing this to yourself?” he asks, but Draco shrugs, avoiding his eyes. “Draco. How long?”

“Since the Battle,” Draco admits, staring down at his feet. “I don’t want this anymore, Potter. I can’t walk around, having this… this thing on me. I hear people talking about me, about what I did.”

“You think I don’t?”

“Oh yes, poor Potter,” Draco scoffs. “You’re the hero that saved the day. I’m the guy who…”

“A hero?” Harry cuts him off. “People are dead, Draco! My friends are dead because of me! There is a little boy who will grow up without his parents, because of me!” he spits out.

“You think Lupin and Tonks died because of you?”

“They were there because of me.”

“You didn’t make them fight, did you?” Draco asks. “You didn’t kill them.”

“Tell Teddy that.”

Draco sighs, looking down at the sleeve of his shirt, the brown-reddish stain slowly growing bigger.

“Don’t do this to yourself, Draco,” Harry says, making him look up again. “I know what it’s like to…”

“No, you don’t, Potter,” Draco interrupts, “You have no idea what it’s like to have to live with this.”

“I do,” Harry says, as he takes the diary out of his pocket. “You left this in the library.”

“What, and you read it?”

“I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t know it was yours. Not at first, at least.”

Draco stares down at the small notebook, embarrassed at first, but then tears begin to fall from his eyes, and within moments he seems to grow smaller, younger.

Harry knows all about what has happened between them, what has been said and done, but he also knows what he has read, how broken the young man in front of him is. So he wraps his arms around him, and he pulls him against his chest, holding him so tight, that surely he must be hurting him. But Draco doesn’t try to free himself, he doesn’t get angry or mock him for doing this. Instead, he clings onto him, sobbing into his shoulder, not even trying to pretend to be strong anymore.

* * *

“Why don’t you stay with me tonight?” Harry suggests, as they leave the bathrooms. “I hate the thought of you being on your own.”

“I’ll be fine, Potter.”

“Really?” Harry asks, as he grabs Draco’s arm. “Let me look after you, please. Tomorrow you can… whatever. But please, for tonight…”

Draco gives a nod, and he follows Harry to his room.

After they had come back to Hogwarts, they had both been given their own, private room. With all the stories going around, and the prying eyes, McGonagall figured they could both do with the privacy.

“Sit down,” Harry orders, as soon as they have gone into his room, and he has locked the door behind them. “I’m not the best at this, but I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

Harry takes out his wand, ready to try and undo the damage Draco has done to his arm. But Draco stops him, shaking his head.

“Don’t.”

“I’m not going to make it worse.”

“I know, but… don’t,” Draco sighs. “It’ll heal.”

“You’ll have scars,” Harry objects, but when Draco begins to unbutton his shirt, inch by inch exposing his wounded and scarred chest, he sighs.

“I already have scars.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“You think it’s going to fix anything?” Harry asks, unable to take his eyes off the other man’s chest. “You doing this to yourself? You think this is going to change how people see you?”

“Who cares, Potter?” Draco sighs, lifting up his arm so he can take a closer look.

“I care.”

“Sure you do,” Draco scoffs, but when he looks up from his arm, and he sees the sincere look on Harry’s face, he sits down on Harry’s bed, a pained look on his face. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

“Let me fix this for you,” Harry tries, as he kneels down in front of him. “Then tomorrow we’ll talk to McGonagall, we’ll tell her about this, and we’ll…”

“No! You’re not telling anyone.”

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Harry whispers, very gently, and very carefully putting a hand on Draco’s scarred shoulder.

He still half-expects Draco to fight him, but instead, Draco clasps a hand around his, before bringing it up to his lips and kissing it ever so softly.

“Please let me try and heal you,” Harry whispers.

Draco shakes his head, and Harry knows that there is no point in arguing.

“Then at least let me clean your wounds,” he whispers, and this time Draco nods, before lying down on the bed.

He looks small, fragile, broken even, his skin almost translucent against the dark covers of the bed, and for a moment, Harry can’t help but stare at him. Another victim of the war, he thinks, before shaking off the thought.

He fills up a bowl of water, and he grabs a cloth, before sitting down next to Draco, and grabbing his wounded arm. He ever so carefully tries to clean it, but he can tell that these wounds were caused by dark magic.

“I hate to see you like this,” he admits. “Taking it out on yourself.”

“There’s no one else left, is there?” Draco asks, his eyes focussed on the ceiling, as Harry moves on to cleaning up a large wound on his chest. “Everyone’s gone.”

“We’re not,” Harry replies, making the other man look at him.

“Why are you doing this? Why do you care?”

“Because I read your diary,” Harry sighs. “You and I… we’re not so different.”

“Aren’t we?”

Harry can feel his heart race, as he carefully traces a dark scar with the tips of his fingers.

“What else did you read in there?”

“Not much.” Harry shrugs, quickly taking his hand off Draco’s skin. “I flipped through it, mostly. But I saw some things you wrote, about the war, about feeling like you don’t deserve to be here. Feeling out of place… About your nightmares.”

“You must think I’m pathetic.”

“I have them too. I think we all do.”

“Did you read…,” Draco begins, but then he closes his eyes, and Harry notices his chest flaring up. “What I wrote about you?”

“No. I’m sure it’s fine,” Harry chuckles uncomfortably. “You used to say some pretty awful things to me, so whatever it was…”

“That I’m in love with you?”

“What?” Harry laughs, thinking it’s a joke. But when Draco opens his eyes, and he sees the look in them, he realises that this is not a joke. “You’re… with me? But… why?”

“Why?” Draco asks. “I don’t know, do I? These things, they just happen, don’t they?”

“Do they?” Harry asks, fully aware that his voice is coming out all wrong. “If this is some kind trick, or…”

“It’s not,” Draco says, as he sits up on the bed. “I’m too tired to play tricks, or to… I don’t know, Potter. At first I thought I hated you, but you know what they say, don’t you?” He smiles uncomfortably.

“I really don’t.”

“About love and hate… that it’s actually not that different,” Draco tries, but Harry can tell that he is more than just a little uncomfortable talking about this. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Why did you?”

“You read my diary.”

“I didn’t read about any of that,” Harry says. “I’m not even sure if…,” he begins, but Draco leans over, and he grabs the diary from the desk, and starts flipping through the pages.

“Here… _Not sure how to feel about seeing Harry again. I thought I’d be happy, but seeing him and having him ignore me, it only confirms that I shouldn’t have come back…._ Here… _I thought I’d be over this by now, but tonight I went to Harry’s room to tell him how I feel about him. I almost told him I love him. I even knocked on his door, but then I got scared, and I ran off. Stupid fucking…_ I probably shouldn’t say that out loud.”

“That was you?”

“Yes, Potter, that was me,” Draco says, flipping through the diary. “Here… _Why does he still make me feel like this after everything we’ve been through? I know he hates my guts, and he wishes I were dead. So why do I still feel those fucking butterflies, every time he looks at me? Why can’t I just forget about him? Why him? Why the one person, who…_ ” He reads, but his voice catches in his throat, and it isn’t until Harry takes the diary from his hands, that he looks up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Seriously?”

“You’re telling me now, aren’t you?”

“I have nothing to lose, Harry. Nothing,” Draco says, tears forming in his eyes again. “I know that this, right here, this is all I’m ever going to have with you. Tomorrow morning you are going to go back to your own life, and I’ll be…”

“My own life?” Harry interrupts. “You’re a part of that life, Draco. Whether I like it or not,” he adds, a small smile forming on the Slytherin’s lips. “You should have said something.”

“You wouldn’t have listened.”

Harry opens his mouth to deny this, but then he sighs, because he knows that Draco is right. If he hadn’t found his diary, if he hadn’t found out about his pain, he wouldn’t have believed that the Slytherin isn’t still the same young man he once was. He wouldn’t have trusted him, he would have thought his every word was either a lie or a trick.

But now he finds himself bringing their mouths together, at first a little unsure as to how to feel. This is, after all, Draco Malfoy. But when the young man gently puts a hand on the side of his neck, as he deepens their kiss, he feels his nerves slowly but surely leaving him.

“You didn’t just kiss me because you feel sorry for me, did you?” Draco whispers, as he brings their heads together, a shy smile on his lips. “Because that would be cruel, even for you.”

“I didn’t,” Harry whispers, before kissing him again, and again and again. Until finally he leans back, his face flushed, an embarrassed smile on his face.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” Draco admits, and Harry nods, but he looks down at his hands, avoiding the other man’s eyes. “Tell me, Potter. I can take it.”

“I don’t know,” Harry admits. “Why I kissed you. I’m not like you. I haven’t been thinking about this for… however long. I didn’t even know you… we…”

“Okay,” Draco says, trying his best not to show how much these words hurt. But when he gets up, and he picks up his shirt, Harry quickly follows him and grabs his arm. “Let me go!”

“No,” Harry says. “Just because I don’t know how I feel, that does not mean that I’m saying that this isn’t what I want.”

“What?” Draco asks, a confused look on his face.

“I wanted to kiss you, okay?” Harry explains. “I just… I’m not…”

“You don’t love me. You can say it.”

Harry thinks about these words, and he thinks about what they mean to him. He knows he loves his friends, his family. He knows what love feels like. He even has to admit that he feels a certain love for Draco, after all that they have been through together. But being in love, that is something different entirely. He thought he was in love with Cedric, with Cho, but they had been nothing more than crushes. He thought he had been in love with Ginny, but there hadn’t been a spark. She had always been more like a sister to him.

“I do love you,” he says, the thoughts racing through his mind. “But I don’t know anything about being in love.”

“Then maybe it’s best if we forget about this. Forget I said anything.”

“I don’t want to forget,” Harry admits. “I want…” He tries, searching for the right words.

“Not this,” Draco suggests, still standing there with his stained shirt in his hands. “Look at me, Potter. You deserve more than this.”

“I want _you_!” Harry spits out, frustrated. “Why do you think I came looking for you? I care about you, Draco! So let me in, please.”

“And that?” Draco asks, nudging his head towards the diary. “Are you going to tell on me?”

“And tell people what? That you’re hurting?” Harry asks. “We all are. But that…,” he says, pointing at Draco’s arm. “Do that again, and I _will_ tell McGonagall.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“I’m trying to help you. Because I don’t want to come back here one day and find you,” Harry says, a pained look on his face as he sees the images of his friends’ mutilated bodies flashing before his eyes again. “One day you’re going to take this too far, and…”

“I won’t.”

“Will you let me look after you?” Harry asks, and Draco flashes a small smile as he drops the shirt.

He steps up to him, and he wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him closer, until their mouths almost collide. But just as Harry is about to kiss him, Draco leans back.

“Promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Let me look after you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> https://samunderthelights.tumblr.com/


End file.
